American comic: From Beijing with Love, starting with a mutant.

"Ten days? By the time the daylilies have grown a second crop, I'm going to Los Angeles to rescue urgently needed talents, not to participate in wilderness survival in Alaska."

Margaret took his empty bowl away. "It's minus thirty degrees outside, and the snow on the road is over two meters deep. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

"Provocation doesn't work on me."

Zhou Xingxing wrapped himself tightly in the floral blanket and reached his hand to warm it by the fireplace.

"As a section-level cadre, I have strong principles and even stronger organizational discipline. I would never risk my life for a mere two meters of snow."

The window frame rattled in the wind, and a few snowflakes slipped in through the cracks and landed on his wet socks that he had just taken off.

Comrade Zhou looked up at the black landline phone on the wall.

"Can this thing make international calls?"

"The line was cut off a long time ago."

"Give it a try. What's the difference between a person without dreams and a salted fish?"

Margaret pushed the phone over.

Stephen Chow picked up the receiver and put it to his ear, but there was no busy tone, only static.

He patted the receiver, then unplugged the telephone line and touched the copper core with the tip of his tongue.

"No power, the blizzard broke the power lines."

"I already said that."

"You said it was just a verbal report from the public, but my personal inspection is a case of on-site verification by officials. We can't skip any procedures."

Zhou Xingxing put the phone back, picked up his phone, opened the green bubble app, and edited a location-based SOS message.

[Smurfs, come pick me up in Alaska! Landing spot requirements aren't high, just don't teleport into a bear's belly, and I'll add fifty to your milk tea allowance.]

The send icon spun for ages, and then a red exclamation mark popped up next to the message.

He ordered it again.

The red exclamation mark is still there.

"A section-level cadre has gone missing in Alaska, and nobody in the work unit's group chat even noticed? These people are receiving state salaries, yet they don't even offer basic organizational care!"

"Auntie, you're in the middle of nowhere, you must have a router, right? Or satellite broadband or something? What's the password? I need to use your hotspot to let my boss know I'm safe, and also get a receipt for the potato meal I just had."

Stephen Chow held the empty bowl and looked at Margaret with anticipation.

The old woman didn't even lift her eyelids, and her hand paused in the act of threading the needle.

"WiFi? Have you lost your mind from being hit by a snow bear outside?" she sneered. "I can't even find a complete power line in this dilapidated wooden hut. Where am I supposed to get you a base station? Do you want me to find you two planks of wood, and you can carve an antenna yourself and hold it up on the roof?"

Stephen Chow plopped back down on the small wooden stool next to the fireplace.

"What a tragedy!"

He covered his face with his hands and let out a painful wail.

"As a section-level cadre, every time I go on a business trip, I either get scammed or kidnapped. Last time I fell into the desert, this time I was thrown into the Arctic. Is this some kind of publicly funded vacation or a pilgrimage to the West? Are the eighty-one tribulations calculated per person?"

Earning this measly business trip allowance is more exhausting than the pilgrimage to the West.

No internet, no signal, can't even watch short videos, isn't this going to kill me?

Margaret glanced at him and put down the old gloves she was holding.

"Stop yelling, save your energy. There's not much food left in the house, those potatoes were our last rations."

"What the hell?" Stephen Chow looked up, his eyes wide like saucers. "No food left? Ma'am, you can't be joking like that. I get low blood sugar when I'm hungry, and when my blood sugar is low, I tend to lose my mind."

His gaze began to wander around the room, finally settling on the old hunting dog that was dozing by the fireplace.

"Auntie..." Zhou Xingxing rubbed his hands together, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"How many years have you had this dog? The meat looks... no, I mean, its fur looks pretty shiny. If we ever really run out of food, wouldn't this little guy be a good emergency food backup?"

The old hunting dog was sleeping soundly, but perhaps it sensed a malicious gaze.

It opened its eyes, its gray fur stood on end, and it bared its teeth at Stephen Chow.

"Woof! Woof woof!"

"Oh my, you've got quite a temper." Stephen Chow chuckled and leaned forward.

"It's no use screaming. In this snow-covered mountain area, the squeaking the meat is, the chewier it will be when it goes into the pot. Don't you agree, little one?"

The old hound whimpered in fright, tucked its tail between its legs, and scurried under Margaret's chair, refusing to show its face again.

"Stop looking like you're some kind of reincarnated starving ghost." Margaret kicked away the chair leg that Stephen Chow was leaning towards.

"Don't even think about taking Old Harry's supplies. Before the heavy snow blocked the mountain pass, my son called and said he'd be delivering some supplies along the way in the next couple of days. Judging by the schedule, it should be in the next day or two."

Stephen Chow pursed his lips, looking completely disbelieving.

"Don't try to comfort me. It's minus thirty degrees outside, and the snow could bury a six-foot-tall man alive. What kind of decent person would choose to deliver food in this weather? Is your son an icebreaker or a Gundam pilot?"

"Believe it or not," Margaret said, ignoring him.

As it turns out, Stephen Chow's jinx has always been accurate, though not for good reasons.

On the first day, Margaret found a small half-bag of old oats in a corner of the cellar. The two of them and the dog cooked it into a porridge, which was enough to barely fill their stomachs.

The oatmeal was gone by the next day.

Zhou Xingxing tried to dig up some wild vegetables or catch a snow rabbit in the snow outside, but after struggling in the snow pit for half an hour, he didn't see a single blade of grass except for a shoe full of ice shards.

On the third day...

The wooden house has run out of food.

The fire in the fireplace flickered, and the burning firewood made a soft crackling sound.

Stephen Chow lay sprawled on the floor like a sticker that had lost its dreams.

Although his bulletproof suit had a built-in temperature control system, it couldn't stop the throbbing hunger in his stomach.

"Auntie..." he groaned weakly.

"Is your son... really your biological son?... If he doesn't come soon, there will be two more starving corpses in your old house. No, one starving corpse and a pot of dog meat hot pot."

Old Harry, who was under the chair, shrank back warily.

Margaret leaned back in her rocking chair, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy, and she didn't reply.

The room was eerily quiet, with only the howling wind and snow outside the window.

Even ghosts wouldn't come in this awful weather.

late at night.

The wind and snow intensified, and the entire wooden house creaked under the weight of the fierce wind.

Starving, Stephen Chow was dreaming of a Manchu Han Imperial Feast.

In his dream, he was holding chopsticks, preparing to pick up a piece of glistening braised pork knuckle.

Just as the chopsticks were about to touch the meat.

"Thump!"

"Knock knock knock!"

A dull knocking sounded on the door.

Zhou Xingxing opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet.

Old Harry jumped out from under the chair and barked wildly at the door.

Margaret was also awakened. She grabbed the double-barreled shotgun on the wall, pulled the bolt, and pointed the muzzle at the door.

"Who?" the old woman asked in a hoarse voice.

There was no answer from outside the door, only the howling of the wind and snow.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"